


Hotpot of Drabbles

by Nanimok



Category: Naruto
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff, Humour, Izuna lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Fluffy drabbles about Madara and Tobirama. Cross-posted on tumblr.





	1. Historical Inaccuracies

**Author's Note:**

> Look at how much MadaTobi has consumed my life. Feedback is always welcomed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t you just hate it when history books glosses over a big detail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in IzunaIsAlive!AU but Obito still causes the Fourth Shinobi War. Warnings for some swearing.

It is recorded on every single historical text giving an introductory account of Konoha’s origins that although Senju Hashirama, the God of Shinobi, was Uchiha Madara’s greatest, and most formidable, opponent, it was his brother, Senju Tobirama, that was Madara’s equal and opposite on all elemental aspects. That once Tobirama showed Uchiha Izuna mercy on the battlefield, he had ascended in skill to Madara’s level and Madara had deemed him a worthy rival.

And the emphasis on the last fact was enough to drive even the most studious into tedium. Metaphors, similes, repetitions – any phrase that juxtaposed these two shinobi – hammered in the fact that Tobirama was the icy storm that rivaled Madara’s scorching flame and that they were blood-borne partners in battle.

Every time their swords clashed, the battlefield _burned._

As such, the Nidaime was first to jump into the bloody fray, even though out of the four impurely resurrected Hokage, Minato had arrived before him.

Tobirama flashes behind a cracked, porcelain figure slicing his gunbai through people as if they were fruit on a chopping board and swings his sword. The Yondaime tenses his shoulder, reaching for his three pronged sai and prepares to teleport. A solid hand on his arm stops him.

“Wait,” the Shodaime beckons. “You too, Hiruzen. Madara’s not in his right mind – he’s being controlled by the Rinnegan – let Tobi try and talk to him first.”

A great clang rings as Tobirama’s sword was met with metal. His pushes his body into the crisscross of swords, smelling nothing but the acrid tang of blood from his opponent.

“Madara,” he growls. “Snap out of it. You’re being controlled.”

Madara pushes himself back metres away, hand flashing rapidly into a flurry of seals Tobirama knows off by heart. His own fissured fingers formed seals for a counter jutsu.

Minato watches as a ferocious water dragon chomps a fireball and steam erupts, encasing them. He signals all surrounding shinobi to immediately fall back. “We should help him. Between the four of us, we can take Madara down quickly and focus on the one with the Rinnegan.”

“I have to agree with Shodaime-sama, Minato-kun,” says Hiruzen. “Tobirama-sensei has this under control, I believe.”

At Minato’s furrowed eyebrows, Hashirama adds a blinding smile. “Trust me.”

Minato is still a little bit unsure, but this was a chance to watch two titans of the shinobi world – two rivals no less – fight each other. This wasn’t an opportunity he’d likely have again (being dead and all).

When the steam clears, Tobirama is in front of Madara. His back leg kicks one of Madara’s hands and the gunbai flies sideways. Tobirama flashes to dodge a kunai aimed at his face and barely manages to tilt his body when a foot strikes forward to where his stomach had been. Before Madara could retract his leg, Tobirama drops his sword, digs his fingers into Madara’s knee and _pulls_.

Off-balance, Madara jolts forward. Tobirama uses this momentum, palms a jaw in one hand, the top of Madara’s head in another, the perfect position to snap his neck. In one final move he tilts the head in his hands –

– and smacks their lips together in a rough, sloppy kiss.

From the edge of their fighting zone, Minato goggles. So do the hundreds of allied shinobi rallying behind him. 

Minato’s jaw aches from trying to rip itself to the floor but his eyes wouldn’t move. Until he looks at Hashirama, then at Hiruzen.

They both look unaffected.

After a couple of beats, Madara’s jaw moves in reciprocation. They both break away in a harsh gasp for air.

“Tobirama?” Madara questions, chest heaving, the back of his hand reaching up to stroke the fingers holding his cheek. His eyes roam around them, taking in their rocky terrain. “What’s happening?”

Tobirama gives a tender smile, and his eyes softens in relief, a startling contrast to his sharp features. “You’re back,” he sighs. Then he grabs Madara’s shoulders and shoves him into the ground.

“ _Ow!_ What the _fuck_ , Senju?!”

“Greatest sharingan user in history my ass,” Tobirama hisses. “God damn it Madara, you couldn’t even get out of one simple _genjutsu!”_

Madara scrambles up and shoves Tobirama back. “Simple genjutsu?! That man has the fucking Rinnegan, the dōjutsu everyone thought didn’t exist, you twat! You try and break out of a hold like that!” Even through the paleness of their resurrected form, Madara’s face was red with spitting anger. “And why the fuck are we alive anyway? I told you to burn that ungodly jutsu of yours.”

“And _I_ told _you_ that somebody else would discover it in due time! It was better off that I did so I could start working on something to counter it.”

“It’s still _ungodly_ , Senju. Did it not occur to you that playing with the dead is _unnatural_? How did they even get our bodies? We agreed to be cremated and unless your jutsu can regenerate bodies from ash then –”

“Uhm, should we break them up?” Minato breaks in.

Watching the flurry of shoves and pointed fingers, Hashirama shakes his head. “Nope, wouldn’t dream of it. They’re just catching up on some quality time. It’s clear that they’ve missed each other.”

Hiruzen nods sagely.

Since the bickering couple was starting to look like they were itching to take up their swords again, Minato winces. _Thank goodness Kushina was never this violent during our quality time,_ he thinks.

“When the history texts kept on emphasising about Tobirama-sama being Madara-sama’s partner at war, I hadn’t really imagined it like this,” Minato observes. “I’ve always thought it was more along the lines of differing ideologies…or heated philosophical debates.”

Hashirama visibly winces while the lines in Hiruzen face scrunches in displeasure, and Minato has to blink twice because he has never seen the Sandame as anything other than poised.

“Heated is definitely an accurate descriptor for some of the things I have seen,” Hiruzen mutters.

Minato’s eyebrows rise in confusion.

Hashirama laughs sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. “Take my word for it, Minato-kun. Never, ever, _ever_ , forget to knock before entering a closed door.”


	2. The Great Hokage Debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fight for the Hokage hat goes not in the way that’s expected and Madara is more whipped than whipped cream. Set in IzunaIsAlive!AU

It should have cued him that a disaster was heading his way when his little brother with his recuperating kneecap, quite the lazy and unrepentant abuser of other people’s sympathetic goodwill towards the injured, Madara might add, stands up in an abrupt manner that shook the cutlery of their breakfast, and excuses himself out of their dining room.

“I, uh, gotta go,” Izuna mumbles. “Left something in the office. Later, brother.”  
  
Madara hums in goodbye as Izuna hobbles towards the exit, too immersed in reviewing the new insurance proposals to notice his little brother tripping over air, and righting himself, before muttering a hasty greeting to the figure that passes him by the door.

He’s not usually this inattentive to his brother’s odd behaviours. Izuna’s panicked chicken dance has been a reliable indicator of when trouble comes crashing in the past (probably because he’s been the cause of numeral of said trouble), but ever since Hashirama’s recent health scare his work load has tripled, the stack stretching all the way to the top of the Hokage mountains. More than ever, Madara has been doused with requests from the Nara, the Yamanaka, the Aburame, the civilian sector - almost every aspect of the village has been crowing and demanding his attention.

Except for the Hyūga. The Hyūga clan hasn’t asked him for a thing. For once, Madara is glad for the huffy rivalry between their two clans, he’d like to keep his paperwork to a minimum, thank you very much.

It’s no wonder Mito enforces Hashirama’s sick leave with a fist of steel. Not even a man with the most steadfast constitution that rivals mountains or the regenerative powers of twelve lizards combined could handle this much stress. The fact that Hashirama whines, and begs her to let him come back shows how much of an insane fool Hashirama is.

Every particle in his body starts buzzing with warmth. “Senju,” Madara greets, surprised but pleased upon sensing his partner’s comforting chakra patterns. Madara shifts the glasses framing the pronounced lines creasing along his nose, and shuffles his paper back onto the table.  “Didn’t expect to see you before lunch.” He smiles as Tobirama makes his way around his dining table to where he kneels.

Tobirama is holding something behind his back, clad in his signature blue armour. He smiles in return, his right dimple adding a wholesome layer to an otherwise frighteningly fierce face. “Close your eyes, Uchiha. I have a surprise for you.”

In hindsight, Madara should’ve jumped through their screen door like his robes were on fire, and reverse-summoned himself to the hills. Tobirama _never_ smiles before his second kettlepot of tea. The last ‘surprise’ he had for Madara involved his screen door ripped into shreds, a leopard with familiarly white colouring lounging on their patio, and a half-assed apology note stuck between his teeth.

But being the lovesick fool that he is – and he shakes his fists daily at how far he’s fallen –Madara humours him. Madara humours him because he went from a man that spikes fear with a single glance to a man melting to goo at one look from Tobirama. It’s White Day today, Madara thinks half-wittedly, and Tobirama might brighten his day with a much needed kiss. Tobirama might even spoil him with some chocolate out of pity. It’s not even nine o clock yet and he was just wishing for a break from all this paperwork when Tobirama arrived. It’s like a higher deity from up above is looking out to him, listening to his wishes and conjuring them true.

Unfortunately, a higher deity is not listening from above. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Off in their shared study room, Izuna is snickering his butt off.

With his eyes closed, Madara feels something lodge on top of his head and Madara figures out that it’s a hat. He opens his eyes and Tobirama is sitting cross legged in front of him with a small mirror. Tired, black eyes shift to the mirror, and widens in alarm.

On top of his reflection is a diamond red hat, trimmed in white, with a white diamond centred on his forehead. Right above his eyes, emblazoned in burning red, is the Kanji for fire.

“Surprise,” Tobirama congratulates.

Madara hisses like a frying skillet, grabs the hat on his head, and tosses the hat on to the table. 

“What the _fuck_?” Madara seethes. “Senju, you’re supposed to give me chocolate back on White Day, not a fucking _heart_ _attack_!” His heart is pounding, cold sweat starts breaking. Just the thought of becoming Hokage is enough to scare him into a coma, he doesn’t even want to think about following his best friend’s footsteps and ending up in an actual coma.

“I’m giving you the gift of forewarning.” Unblemished by Madara’s shrieking rage, Tobirama neatly seals the mirror into a storage scroll with a dainty and regal composure – why he needs a mirror for his daily activities, Madara will never know - before cocking his head towards Madara in a stern look. “Not to mention the gift of instilling the next generation with the Will of Fire. Some would consider it a great honour to be bestowed the title of Hokage.”

“And some,” Madara bites back, “would prefer to live past their forties and not keel over from stress-induced illness. Why are we being hasty here? Your brother is still the Hokage, he’s just on sick leave.”

Tobirama shuts his mouth. Instant dread crawls up his back, and the bottom of his stomach falls through the floor. “No,” he whimpers in horror.

A Tobirama without a snarky quip is a troubling Tobirama. Troubling for Madara, that is.

“It turns out brother’s sick leave is quickly developing into more of a… _permanent_ leave,” Tobirama informs him, eyes flickering to read the blatant longing in Madara’s face as he eyes the screen door. He shifts his body, becoming a formidable obstacle between Madara and his freedom. “In any case, you are next in line so it’s only in due time.”

“I thought you were next in line for Hokage,” begs Madara desperately.

“Sadly, I was not,” lies Tobirama, trying to inject a sincere – _fake_ – amount of sympathy instead of the devious smirk that Madara can see was threatening to twitch his beautiful – _punchable_ – face. “Also, overseeing the Academy and conducting research takes up the majority of my time.”

Tobirama isn’t a heavy man, Madara considers. He’s sculpted with muscle – he admits he’s leering a bit – but isn’t considerably heavy. With a boost of chakra in _his_ system, and a lack of caffeine in _Tobirama’s_ system, he could-

“Don’t even think about it.”

Madara curses, but he’s desperate enough to keep reaching. “What about that cousin of yours? She’s scary enough.”

“Tōka is on a self-assigned infiltration mission taking place in the Land of Wind which will last for another month at least,” Tobirama reiterates with a bland tone. “She wishes you, and I quote, to have ‘a fun time burning in hell, that poor bastard’.”

“Mito?”

“Mito says that a woman with a delicate constitution, such as herself, should not be placed in such a distressing position.”

The pure incredulity of that statement leaves his mouth gaping. _Delicate?_ As if that woman hadn’t seal a twenty foot, raging, chakra beast into her coils and _flourished_. That cackling witch.

Madara considers his next statement, fully aware he might get slapped in the face for even suggesting such a thing. “…Izuna?”

Tobirama gives him a long look filled with such deep rebuke that Madara feels downright shameful.

As the damning walls of responsibility and duty close in around him, Madara feels a pulse of rebellion thrumming in throat. Impetuous, petty, rebellion. “Damn it,” Madara swears. “Why can’t you be Nidaime? The elders have always preferred you anyway, nagging airy sack of bones.”

He is not pouting. Pouting is not the adult thing to do in this situation and Madara is one hundred percent a pure, grown adult reacting in a reasonable manner that adults are prone to do. Madara is an adult, so very adult.

Tobirama gives a sigh that rumbles the whole of his chest. “I suppose I can become the Nidaime…”

The seeds of hope are sprouting tiny leaves. Madara holds his breath.

“…but between leading the village, supervising my students and my research projects,” Tobirama takes his time to inspect his nails on one perfectly manicured hand, “I might not have any time to spare organising the move from my house to yours.”

All breath rushes out in fury, making him splutter. “…. you ruthless – _bastard_.”

“It’s shameful really,” Tobirama continues despite Madara’s increasingly red face. “How _tired_ , and _exhausted_ I might be at the end of the day. How I might just prefer to collapse in the comfort of my own bed, _alone_ , instead of a thinning futon occupied by another person.”

Madara is making inscrutable squeals of anger, hands itching to hurl his stack of paper at Tobirama’s adorably smug – not adorable, _shut_ _up_ _brain_ – face, before bunching his shoulders in a tense explosion of frustration, and settling into a glare.

Tobirama meets his glare with a pointed look. Below his faceplate, he raises one tidy eyebrow.

A standoff.

He is a fool, Madara repeats to himself in a fervent haze. He is the biggest fool in all of Konoha. He is a lovesick fool for reaching out on to the table, grabbing the Hokage hat and plopping it on his grudging head.

It settles in neatly like a rope around his neck, and Madara knows that for anything concerning Tobirama, he is an even bigger fool than Hashirama will ever be.

“You look very handsome with the hat on. You don’t even look half as dead on the inside as you usually do,” Tobirama consoles, or at least tries to, it’s a futile effort since he can’t stop his lips from twitching. “It’s fitting that an Uchiha becomes the next Hokage, don’t you think?”

Madara’s face twists until he’s definitely pouting. Pouting and glowering, the whole sullen firework.

The foul mood that blankets him worsens as Tobirama smothers his laughter. It doesn’t improve when Tobirama takes his jaw in his hand and trails kisses on it in compensation - because it’s  _weak_ , and _pathetic_ compensation for such an underhanded tactic, Madara decides, especially when Tobirama breaks off into snickers every time he takes a look at his sulky face.

And goddamn it, Madara scowls, it should be illegal for a man to make whipping noises when he’s the cause of it.


	3. Hearty as an Ox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go home, Tobi. You’re sick. Pure fluff set in IzunaIsAlive!AU.

Tobirama slumps in his office chair, contemplating on committing the one act that is unheard of when considering his stubborn, prideful hide; defeat.

Aches jostle every fibre of his muscles. His head is pulsing like an angry, bleeding wound – Hashirama could’ve grown branches out of his desks, repeatedly slam it on his forehead, and neither the frequency, nor the severity of the throbbing would change. Chills penetrate his armour, making him quiver. Exhaustion threaten to drag his eyelids close. Pure stubbornness had gotten him dressed, fed and to his office this morning, but is quickly leaking out of his nose.

A sniffle escapes from him. Tobirama sighs and reaches for a tissue.

Around him is the hum, thrum and drum of chakra signatures, adding to the pounding his head. Times like these, being an astounding sensor becomes a double-edged sword. One aggravating chakra signatures is bouldering their way towards him, and Tobirama grips his letter opener for his customary greeting.

His door slams open. “Senju–” Madara seamlessly ducks as the letter opener goes flying over his head. “That’s a pretty weak throw. You’re losing your touch, Senju. Anyhow, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Any other, _normal,_ person would take one look at the pure, unadultered _hatred_ burning in his eyes, and body flicker away screaming. Not this buffoon. No, this monkey is the type to poke a growling tiger with a stick whilst snickering and end up wondering why he’s getting clawed to pieces.

Maybe Madara will catch fire from the heat of his glare, wouldn’t that be ironic.

“What do you want, Uchiha?” snarls Tobirama, then cringes because a snarl is only half as effective when it rings this nasally.

Madara’s jaw snaps shut. A leather gloved hand comes up to tuck a wad of spiky fringe behind his ear, and the dark, soulless eyes roam up and down Tobirama’s face. “You’re sick.”

“I’m not,” denies Tobirama. It would have been convincing, if not for the pile of tissues in the rubbish bin beside him. Face stiff and stony, Tobirama shuffles a foot over to tuck the rubbish bin under his desk – discretely.

The observance becomes a droll look. “You’re whiter than the collar of your jacket.”

“I believe I’ve always been this pale,” he bites back. “Time for another eye examination, Uchiha.”

“Your face is red.”

Tobirama gestures to his birthmarks striking through his cheekbones, and his chin, which he tips up in a smug smirk when exasperation floods Madara’s face. He motions Madara to bring forward the papers he carries. “The bone you want to pick with me–” He breaks off, a sneeze tickling up his nose. He dives, hand frantic for a tissue, and shoves his face in before his body jerks in a loud, ‘ _achoo_ ’.

Tobirama doesn’t dare look up. He knows there is nothing but _shame_ waiting for him. (That and a self-satisfied smirk.)

Madara has the decency to swallow his snicker before ushering himself inside. “Go home and sleep,” orders Madara. A heavy thud jolts Tobirama straight, and he finds a new, towering pile paper marring the tidy arrangement of his desk. “I’ll laugh at you all the way to Hashirama, and inform him that you’re taking a day off. He might bring you some of Uzumaki’s soup if you’re lucky.”

Two clashing tempers – and subsequent bad blood – aside, Mito’s cooking makes the mouth of anyone within a twenty metre radius drool like a stray hound.

An inaudible mumble comes out of Tobirama.

“What?”

“I said Hashirama moved out last week,” says Tobirama, with great effort. His red upturned eyes glare at Madara for accosting said effort out of him. “And he’s busy so don’t bother him.”

There is a tingling in his chest, a dangerous, alarming tingling that’s known to get him into far more trouble than he prefers. Madara believes people call it a, ‘conscience’. “What about your cousin? Is she home to take care of you?”

“Tōka is away on a mission, and I don’t need _anyone_ to take care of me,” huffs Tobirama. “If it stops your badgering then I will finish this pile and leave.”

Another, rapid, tickle behind his nose, and Tobirama pinches it to halt the sneezing. He would hate for his sneezing to be used to prove a point, and worse, he’d hate for his sneeze to be used to prove _Madara’s_ point.

Madara folds his arm, arches one eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Tobirama says, nose still pinched but his pride intact, hopefully.

Shoulders heave as Madara sighs, and suddenly he’s behind him. Fingers grip his shoulders and Tobirama tries to shrug the hands off. ‘Try’ being the key word since his limbs feel a ton heavier than what he quite remembers. The end result equates to a formidable flop which rakes a laugh out of Madara.

“You’re pathetic, Senju,” chuckles Madara.

Charcoal tasting chakra bursts around him. Tobirama blinks. Wooden panels, light shining through a screen door, he’s sitting on the blue cushion in his own living room. Warmth flutters around him, and Tobirama registers a blanket around his shoulders. A green tissue box appears on the table.

“Faceplate off,” orders Madara as he pads off into his kitchen. Tobirama squints at Madara’s feet, before looking at his own. _When did they take their shoes off?_

“Leave me alone,” Tobirama groans, but slips the cold metal of his faceplate, and sits it on the table. He huddles into his blanket, settling into the warm cocoon.

A kettle whistles, then a voice rings out, ignoring his previous comment. “Sencha or gyokuro?”

“You’ll get sick,” warns Tobirama, although his whole muscular system contracted at the mention of tea – and probably because of a tiny thing called the flu, but mostly at the sound of tea – his own personal elixir of life. “Gyokuro, please.”

A bark of laughter, a challenge. “Ha! I’m as hearty as an ox! I haven’t been sick since I was six.” Then, a cup of tea is shoved between his hands, and Tobirama cradles it like a precious gem. “Now is there anything else you want before I leave?” Madara cocks his hip while folding his arms, and Tobirama almost laughs at how much the action reminds him of Izuna.

Gratitude and Madara does not equate. Tobirama, instead, peers up from his teacup. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re half-dead but it’s not because of _me,”_ explains Madara. “And I feel quite offended about that.”

Incredulity raises his eyebrows. “You’re offended that I’m half-dead because of something that’s _not_ you…so instead of finishing the job, you’re taking care of me.”

A smile twitches Madara’s lips. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Madara brushes off the insult like lint on his shirt. “And you’re a stubborn fool for not staying home this morning. Now let me repeat myself, is there anything you want before I leave?”

Giving up on figuring out what kind of brand of delusional logic that the Uchiha brothers seem to operate on, Tobirama sips from his tea. Heat pricks it down his to his belly. It feels like there’s a rope is constricting his heart, but it’s not from his sickness, and Tobirama isn’t sure if that’s truly a bad thing.

Tobirama eyes the cushions beside him, and wills it to closer to him so that it may pillow his head when he lies down. “Could you head into my office and grab the scrolls on the table? It’s for after I wake up,” he asks.

Madara pinches the bridge of his nose. The strange tingling is coming back at the longing look Tobirama is throwing the cushions. To satisfy his so called, ‘conscience’ as well as the antagonistic side of him, he graciously kicks the cushions towards the shivering blob of blankets. “You’re a shameless workaholic, so _no_. Ask for something else and learn to delegate.”

“If you want something done right, you do it yourself.” Tobirama recites the mantra that he shelters close to his heart every night. He tumbles sideways and crawls into himself. He’s going to let his eyes rest, just for a second. “Fine. Bring a book off my shelf. Also, I hate you.”

Madara rolls his eyes. “Good.”

When Madara ambles his way back to the living room with a frilly romance novel in his hands – no doubt belonging to Hashirama, Madara bets – he finds Tobirama asleep, chest slowly rising and a soft snore escaping his lips. That’s how you know Tobirama’s sick, Madara thinks. As far as Madara’s aware, Tobirama sleeps silent like a corpse, despite the fact that he startles awake at the slightest nose.

Tobirama’s always been an attractive man, holding a cold, fierce, piercing allure that draws people in. Sickness has really smeared that.

Madara snickers at the thought. The hollowness of his cheeks, punctuated by Tobirama’s natural paleness, adds to the bags hanging under his eyes. His snow-white hair is sticking out at odd ends, doing a solid impersonation of an albino hedgehog, and his nose is swollen raw, red from blowing into tissues all day.

Madara tilts his head. It’s kind of…cute.

“Somebody kill me,” mutters Madara. God forbid that word of his crush ever getting out.

Shaking the thought away, Madara makes a note to get Uzumaki to come over and bring Tobirama some food later on.

-

“Somebody kill me,” moans Madara. Then, he sniffles, and he sneezes, and he _seethes_.

How _dare_ his immune system betray him like this. He hasn’t been sick since he was six!  Even when he’s half dead, Tobirama has found a way to smite him. Damn him, damn his conscience, damn Izuna for dragging his apprentice in to take care of him stating that it was part of the apprenticeship, damn _everything_.

Panic-stricken footsteps rush down his hallway. His door slides open. A high, distressed voice rings out. “Shishou!” Kagami cries. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?!”

There it goes, his only semblance of peace. With a pained grunt, Madara rolls himself over and crawls to the tissue box.

“Do you need more tea? Is your room too hot? Should I call Izuna-sama?” Kagami is doing an expert demonstration of the body flicker technique as he hovers and jumps around like headless turkey. “Are you hungry? Of course you are, you haven’t eaten anything, I should get you some food…something like soup!” Kagami stops, horror surging his features. “But what if I burn soup?!”

A voice, throaty and full of mirth, breaks the boy’s anxious monologue. “Kagami-chan.”  

The boy’s head snaps up. “Sensei!”

Tobirama is leaning against the doorway, colour back in his features, the hollowness in his face gone. In short, better than before and definitely better than he is right now. _How dare he._ “Why don’t you stop bothering your shishou and prepare the rice for lunch?”

Madara grunts in agreement, before mumbling. “…go count the rice or something…”

Kagami salute both of them. “Hai sensei! Shishou!” He poofs out, quite unnecessarily since the kitchen is only two doors down, and Madara welcomes back the silence.

Until Tobirama opens his stupid, cupid-bowed mouth that is. “Hearty as an ox, huh?”

Heat flushes through him. Madara grabs the nearest object beside him, ignores the swooshing noise it makes as it leaves the box, and hauls it towards Tobirama.

They watch as a tissue flitter feebly to the ground.

“I am quaking with fear,” informs Tobirama.

Madara buries his face into his pillow. “I hate you.”

This time, Tobirama rolls _his_ eyes, and couldn’t hide the smile flitting on his face. “Good.”

He forgot how soft his pillow was, cushioned up against his cheek. In his fever-addled mind, he could even pretend that it was a palm cradling it – Tobirama’s palm, and not feel a tad bit of his pride rebel against it. “How did you know I was sick?”

“Izuna came to see me.” His eyes look up and down his body, taking in his pitiful state. “He was too busy adjusting his surgical mask to dodge my letter opener.”

Madara doesn’t move.

It only takes Tobirama a couple of seconds to place tea beside him, but Madara is already fleeting on the edge of sleep, the clanging and crashing from the kitchen beside him fading into a soothing lull. The warmth encased by the blanket on his waists lifts, and snuggles around his shoulders.

Before he falls asleep, Madara feels warm fingers tuck a wad of his spiky fringe behind his ear.  


	4. Soulmate - Losing Things AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Soulmate AU](https://fujoshi-no-hime.tumblr.com/post/153494725166/soulmate-au) where whenever you lose something, your soulmate winds up finding it.

Ever since he was little, Madara would find odd bits and bobs nudged amidst all of his things – crayons in his pocket, pacifiers in his drawers, socks under couches, and even a tiny knitted beany in his little brother’s house slippers once. It’s very annoying. It clutters his room and he’s always being told off by his parents for it.

Then came the drawings. Sometimes crumpled, sometimes not.  Over the years, it grew from illegible, grainy scrawling to clumsy shapes and bendy forms that took less, and less stretching of his imagination to determine as hiragana characters.

 _My name is Senju Tobirama,_ one of it reads.

Paranoia coils in him. Soulmate or not, the thought of a stranger stumbling upon his belongings, his personal, _informative_ , belongings is enough to make anyone holler out stranger danger. This soulmate mumbo jumbo is _weird._

Strangely enough, that’s how he meets his best friend, through the strange mumbo jumbo.

“I’m supposed to be showing my little brother around school today,” bawls the boy with the bowl cut while latching himself on Madara’s arm, all big eyes brimming with tears, and snot running down his nose. “It’s his first day and I can’t find him anywhere! He must be so scared! Will you help me look for him?”

Considering it’s Madara’s first exposure to comforting a fellow seven-year-old that’s crying his eyes out, Madara himself feels a little lost. His panicking eyes flick around them for help, but all the other children have quickly vanished into air as if they were the ninjas they routinely pretend to be. Oddly, he feels betrayed.

Whenever Izuna cries, it’s because he either wants attention or food. Ransacking through his lunchbox, Madara grabs one of his onigiri, and shoves it into the crying boy’s hands. He takes a deep breath, and huffs out his next statement with enough annoyance to drown out his panic, “Will you stop crying?”

There, food and attention. He should stop his crying any minute now.

But much to Madara’s despair, the boy threatens to swell up with tears again. “But he’s alone,” the boy whines, “and he’s so small and everything’s new to him and I need to find him because he could be getting bullied right now–”

“I’ll help you look for him, okay?” Despite holding the onigiri, the shrivelling boy still has one arm clinching Madara’s own. Madara tries (and fails) to shake the crying limpet away. “I’ll help you look for your baby brother. Stop crying already. He couldn’t have gone far, he’s like _five._ ”

As if the magic words were a box of tissues, all tears dry up, and the boy glows. “Okay then, let’s go!” He jumps up and drags Madara with him, snacking on his onigiri in a way that makes Madara feel like he’s been played. “Let’s go find Tobirama!”

Madara stumbles over his own foot. His lunchbox almost falls out of his hands. “Tobirama,” Madara squeaks in a high voice.

His new friend, he finds out, is Senju Hashirama. Oldest of four siblings, like him, and really likes to talk about everything and nothing at once. Tobirama is the second oldest. He’s a bit of a smarty pants, according to his brother, so the dangers of meeting someone who might bully him is definitely a substantial one. Hashirama cheerfully informs him that he has to help beat up the bullies, as part of the agreement of their newfound friendship.

It feels like getting carried away in a Hashirama-shaped tidal wave. Madara ends up not minding it. There’s a tugging in his belly, pulling him towards the library. Flutters of excitement are running up his arm at the thought of meeting his soulmate.

When they do find him, his little body is curled up on one of the beanbags, absorbed in book that’s got to be _way_ too advanced for a five-year old to read. Tobirama peers up from his book at Hashirama’s joyous exclamations. He eyes his older brother like a particularly unpleasant fur ball he’d just hacked up, the expression as prickly as his white hair, and dodges his older brother’s hug with an expert shuffle off his bean bag.

Then and there, Madara knows that he’ll grow to like his soulmate, just as he knows how Tobirama losing Hashirama on his first day of school was definitely not an accident.

-

Soulmate magic is pretty whack, Madara determines, since it seems that the requirement for ‘losing’ something is pretty loose. It can be done intentionally but it can only be done once.

Madara finds this out by biking down to the nearest river and throwing his red and white baseball cap in. He watches as the water sweeps it further and further from him, until the red dot disappears from his sight. The next day, he sees it sitting on top Tobirama’s head, dry and slightly washed out, the exact condition that he threw it in.

“Your brother’s hat is pretty cool,” he mentions to Hashirama one day while they’re sitting on swings. “Where’d he get it?”

“What hat?” Hashiram follows his stare to his brother’s hat. “Oh, that hat. Tobi found it in his closet, I’m pretty sure it belongs to his soulmate.”

“Huh.” He feigns surprise at the information. “That’s cool. If his soulmate loses something that Tobirama loses in the first place, do you think Tobirama will find it again?”

Hashirama looks like he’s in a pain, not used to so many whizzing thoughts in his mind. “Maybe? Wouldn’t it be annoying if you lose something you don’t want to find and it keeps appearing in front of you because your soulmate doesn’t want it too?”

Indeed, that would be annoying. He waits until Tobirama loses something slightly significant to test it out.

When he rummages through his bag one day, he finds the left half of a shoe. It’s light blue with white laces, and much too small to be his. Other than wondering how exactly someone loses one half of a shoe, Madara checks with Izuna if it’s his. It’s not.

Cycling down to the same river as before, Madara chucks the shoe and watches it flow down the river. The next day Tobirama stomps into school in a new pair of red sneakers which he continues to wear for the rest of his school year. Madara never sees the pair of blue shoes ever again.

Hashirama becomes a great source of information. He spouts stories of his family and his brothers without any sort of prompting. It makes it super easy for Madara to buy Tobirama birthday presents that he’s prone to like. He refrains from throwing it down the river, however, since most of Tobirama’s wishes seem to be a whole bunch of books he’s had to religiously save up his allowance for. Wouldn’t want to get them soggy, after all popsicles he’s been missing out on.

A little bit of pride flashes through him when he finds a box on his bed soon after. A note attached on the lid, a bag of candy inside.

_Thank you for the present. I liked it._

Being appreciated is nice – his cheeks feel a little warmer because of it. Tobirama catches on pretty quick, despite being his brother’s age.

-

It seems that Tobirama’s got a penchant for losing almost everything he could possibly own, and it makes Madara borderline pedantic about accounting for his own possessions.

Finding pages and pages of drawings about machines he couldn’t imagine dreaming of within his own paperwork is not fun. If not drawings, then it’s pages and pages of equations and numbers – oh god, the _numbers_ – scribbled in beside words that he knew the definition of separately, but left him squinting in confusion when strung together in a sentence. In cases like these, Madara tends to stick Tobirama’s notes into Hashirama’s desk, and let him deal with the fallout.

He could even exercise his authority and fine Tobirama for littering. God knows the amount of paper Madara’s found in his stuff could act as wallpaper for his apartment.  

 _You could just hand it to him,_ a small voice whispers to him, smug and rebellious, _You know, like a normal person would?_

Madara scoffs. Maybe if they’re relationship hadn’t currently resemble a boulder on the precipice of a cliff. He’s not ready for Tobirama to find out who his soulmate is.

Once Hashirama introduced them during their school years, they scratched at each other like two sandpaper stuck like a sandwich. Tobirama’s snarky remarks never fails to inflate him like an angry puffer fish, and it crushes all his soppy dreams into debris to think that maybe – just maybe – Tobirama doesn’t actually like him.

He’d tried not to feel deflated after that realisation. Only tucked his wounded tail in, and threw himself neck deep into police school.

Still… he can’t help but watch over Tobirama at times. Like ‘misplacing’ his scarf when Tobirama comes tumbling through his and Hashirama’s shared apartment with a holes plaguing the one snaked around his neck, or chucking the book Tobirama’s been eyeing on for the last couple of weeks outside of his window amidst Hashirama’s sighs about his little brother working too hard.

It’s ridiculous how much of a bookworm Tobirama is. Constantly stumbling on Tobirama because he’s cooing at a bookstore or whenever he’s lost himself in a new fictional world makes him feel even more like a stalker – as if the whole soulmate magic thing wasn’t bad enough.

So what if his heart tap dances every time he catches sight of Tobirama? He can’t hear it over the sound of his stubborn foot stomping his dear old heart into submission.

The panging doesn’t stop. This is worrying, should he be checking himself into hospital? Usually, the only reason his heart beating so hard is…

A shoebox thuds against his desk. He looks up, and meets the red eyes that sets his insides on overdrive.

“Uchiha,” Tobirama growls. “If you want to take care of me, do it in person.”

A lump chokes his throat. Looking around the police precinct, Hashirama’s desk is empty, and no one is paying them any attention. The hustle and bustle of the work room, pierced periodically by stressful telephone ringing, chugs along without missing a beat. How the hell did Tobirama get through here without him noticing?

“How the hell did you get here without anyone noticing?” he blurts out.

“Magic.” Tobirama’s tone is drier than his muesli bar. It makes him gulp in the same croaky manner because if that’s a hint of what’s to come, then Madara is not looking forward to this conversation. He leans forward, all tucked up in his jacket and the scarf Madara bought him – he’s _wearing_ the _scarf_ Madara bought _him,_ Madara allows himself a tiny, inner shout of victory – and cocks an impatient gaze at him. “Well?”

And he’s lost. Is that how Tobirama found him in the first place? “Well, what?”

“Take me out to lunch,” Tobirama orders him.

“What,” squeaks Madara.

Their eyes meet, unblinking. Tobirama pinpoints his gaze a little sharper, as if to will Madara to do his bidding. “I know it’s your lunch break currently, brother practically bowled Mito over a couple of minutes ago. That’s what a good soulmate does, they take each other out for lunch.”

Madara reels back. “You _knew?”_ Then he deliberates for another second. “And why can’t you take me out for lunch?”

“I’m a _poor_ , _starving_ , university student,” Tobirama emphasises, his commanding tone isn’t making Madara pity him at all. “Take pity on me.” Then he pushes the shoebox towards Madara, and pats the lids in encouragement. “And of course I knew who you were. I’ve known since I was _five,_ I just thought we’d focus on growing up first. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that whenever I told Hashirama I wanted something, my soulmate would somehow procure it for me.”

Madara’s hands lingers on the cardboard box. He’s been careful about misplacing any of his personal items. He’s not quite sure what he’s expecting. Taking a deep breath, Madara lifts the lid, and noise dims around them. The shoebox is brimming with black elastic hair ties – which explains all the times he thought his wild hair was actually a sentient being that found hair ties to be a dietary necessity – surrounding an item that makes him freeze in his place, purely because he thought he’d never see it again.  

A red and white baseball cap. He inverts the top, and right below the sweat band, in faded, black marker, are the characters for, _Uchiha Madara._

Heat flushes through him. All this time, Madara was trying to avoid revealing himself, and Tobirama already _knew_. “I’m an idiot.“

He’s kinda feels like crawling into his uniform and hiding there till the end of time. No biggie.

Tobirama gives a lopsided smile, his dimple full of mirth. “Yes, you are.” His eyes regard the hat fondly. “I stopped fitting that hat a long time ago.”

Tucking the hat back into the box, Madara holds off his grin from twitching wide open until his cheeks hurt. He stands up, and grabs his jacket. “Well, I’ve always said that you’ve got such a big head at times. I suppose it’s my civic duty to feed a starving university student when I can.” Offering his arm, Madara asks, “Lunch?”

When Tobirama tucks his arm around his, his heart sings an exalted song.


	5. Crow Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Kagami Love where Kagami gets adopted/adopts himself to the family. Background MadaTobi. Title courtesy of shio-dih on tumblr!

When Madara and his apprentice finishes training late, it makes sense for him to offer Kagami dinner and the spare room. This happens the next day, and the next. Until it becomes more intuitive to poke his head into the spare room than send a messenger cat off when trying to find his wayward apprentice.

He knew Kagami stayed with his cousins – he had lost his parents a long time ago, and clan members are duty-bound to adopt orphaned children. Madara also knew that Kagami was cordial, at best, with his adopted family.

Not that there was any bad blood, no. It’s hard to find anyone that dislikes Kagami. It’s just what it is; duty. And duty can be done without any deeper ties.

Madara doesn’t mind. Kagami is talkative, cheerful and eager to please. The latter is what really appeals to Madara. After years of Izuna’s affectionate insubordinance, a puppy kind of obedience makes him want to cackle with glee.

Even Izuna is happy to allow Kagami to slip into their tight knitted circle. Without hesitation, Izuna slid into the role of older-brother with an ebullience that surprises Madara.

A small part of Madara acknowledges that it’s probably because Izuna’s never had a chance to be a big brother to their own little brothers. It’s clear that Izuna enjoys making up for lost time.

Kagami is chūnin now; he works at the Police Station under Madara to clock in his community service hours, before finding Tobirama and helping him with his new band of genin. Then he usually meets up with Madara again, and they train together before crashing back home. It’s more efficient this way.

So he doesn’t really notice when extra clothes began accumulating in one of his guest rooms. Then books, and weapons. He doesn’t notice the extra pair of house slippers until he trips on them. And when he does trip over them, Madara only blinks his bleary eyes for a second, before barking at Kagami to put them at their proper place when he’s not using them.

He does notice that Kagami likes to hang out in the same room as Izuna and Madara. All three of them would do completely different things, but it never felt intrusive.

For someone who is lauded to be one of the most proficient users of the Sharingan, Madara can be pretty unobservant

There’s their household chore wheel. Normally divided in half, it disappeared one day, only to reappear divided into thirds with a new name written on it. It was also decorated with cat stickers in its new reincarnated form.

There’s his tendency to accept anything Kagami tries to hand him without looking.

One time, Kagami handed him a form instead of a police report.

“Sign, please? I want to open my own private bank account,” inform Kagami. “I’m technically still a child, since I’m under sixteen, so I need a supervisor’s signature.”

Sounds reasonable to Madara. He didn’t even blink twice before he signed the form for him.

If Madara had to peg the moment he started noticing, it would be when he realised that his lunch was edible. Actually, it was more than that. It was delicious.

“Huh.” Madara chews on his onigiri, pleasantly surprised. He offered some to Tobirama, who’s going through his own stack of papers across the expansive desk from him, to see if his tongue is playing tricks with him. Tobirama hums, and said it’s a lot better than what he usually packs.

Which is true. As siblings, Madara and Izuna can act as a study of opposites. Madara often  gets impatient and under-seasons his food. Izuna tends to get bored and starts experimenting.

No one comes out at the end of their lunch break a winner.

Then there’s the hospital incident, where Kagam broke arm badly and needed a cast on top of chakra healing. He couldn’t check out without his guardian filling in his discharge form, so a messenger was sent to Madara’s office.

When the receptionist told Madara this, he is absolutely baffled. “Guardian, as in parental guardian?” asks Madara.

“Yes, Uchiha-sama,” the receptionist replies. “He’s jotted you down as his parental guardian.”

“Huh.” Madara takes a moment for the news to register. Then he signs the discharge forms, before entering the room where Kagami sits to sort it all out.

As soon as he steps inside, Madara asks, “Do you want to be formally adopted into our family?”

“Yes!” Kagami blurts out, then flushes. “Ah, was that too desperate? I mean, yes, Shishou.” Kagami coughs and sits up straighter. “I’d very much like that.”

And it turns out, Kagami carries spare adoption papers in his flak jacket. Madara can’t help it. He chuckles before ruffling the boy’s already messy hair. “Don’t tell Izuna this,” Madara teases, “but you’re already my favourite.”

-

Izuna is lured in the kitchen by the delicious smell wafting from their wok. There Madara stands beside Kagami, Madara stirring the wok with his chopsticks while Kagami beside him throws in a handful of spices into the pan.

“Ooh,” Izuna sings. “That smells delicious! What’s the special occasion?”

Kagami turns around grinning. “I’m officially adopted into the family!”

Both of Izuna’s eyebrows rises up to his hairline. “You mean you weren’t before?”

“Nope,” confirms Kagami exuberantly.

Izuna laughs. “Really, brother? You adopt a stray kid by bringing him home, and you don’t even notice it until – when was it? I completely forgot. Kagami-chan, how long has it been now?”

“Four months,” informs Kagami. “Four _awesome_ months.”

Madara grimaces. “Hush, you two. I’ve been busy, okay. And don’t look at me like that, Kagami.“

“Like what, Shishou?”

“Like there are stars trying to burst out of your eyes.” Madara narrows his eyes at him. “Like I’m your hero.”

“But you are my hero, my idol, my role model” defends Kagami. “Sensei told me it’s good to have a role model – and you’re everything I aspire to be in life. You’re even dating sensei!”

“What?” asks Madara.

“What?” asks Kagami, all doe eyes and innocence.

“Holy shit,” Madara mouths without sound.

“Rude. I am right here, you know,” Izuna reminds them. He levels a chopstick towards Kagami. “I’m much better role model material. Brother only wishes to be half as charismatic as I am, and it wouldn’t have taken me a gazillion years to notice that I’ve been dating Tobirama for these past couple of weeks.”

Madara is  mumbling quietly. “All those times we had dinner, and lunch, and the walks, and after work drinks – Tobirama and I have been dating and I haven’t noticed? How am I still alive? How has Tobirama not killed me yet?”

Helpful as ever, Kagami is elated to answer. “Oh! There’s a betting pool as to how long it’ll take you to realise and sensei himself even has money for – uh, I mean–” Kagami cuts off abruptly at Izuna’s rapid throat cutting motions, “–oh no! I think our stir fry’s burning! Better stir it very vigorously, Shishou–”

Madara flicks Kagami on the back of his head, because his apprentice is as transparent as glass. Izuna snickers madly while Kagami squawks. “Nice try. Izuna, you are such a bad influence. And you, Kagami, you’re telling me all about this betting pool after we finish. And Tobirama’s too old for you. Find someone younger to crush on.”

Kagami pokes his tongue out at him, and Madara rolls his eyes.

Now that he notices how easily Kagami fits into his family, he can’t help but smile. He could get used to this.


	6. Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee Shop AU written in a coffee shop.

“You know,” Hashirama drawls out, “when I asked my best friend to get coffee – it’s because I wanted to hang out with him, not because I wanted to watch him fight with my brother.”

“Not now, Hashirama,” Madara brushes him off. “This is important.”

Hashirama feels a pout forming, and it edges close into a quiver. “ _Madara_ ,” he whines, to no avail. Madara continues to squint his eyes at the man over the counter.

Tobirama glares back.

“For the last time, you do not need eight shots of caffeine,” Tobirama chews out, pen in one hand, a coffee cup in the other, and a green apron that hugging his trim waist. “Your heart rate will speed up to an unhealthy degree, and you’ll keel over in a heart attack.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Madara seethes. “This is my free cup, and I’m getting my money’s worth. Now I want it venti sized, extra soymilk, extra hazelnut syrup, extra chocolate syrup–”

“Would you like a shot of insulin as well?” Tobirama interrupts.

“–white chocolate mocha _without_ the snarky quips from smug baristas who think they know everything,” Madara finishes with a satisfied smirk. And because his parent did not raise an ingrate, he adds, “Please?”

“You are going to _die_ ,” Tobirama punctuates slowly, as if he were talking to a five-year-old.

“Then let me die caffeinated,” Madara declares, the anthem of all stressed out students.

“Fine,” Tobirama bites out. He grudgingly scribbles on the cup. “I’m not explaining to your mother why you’ve developed type two diabetes. The usual for you, brother?”

As Hashirama gives a complacent nod. Madara feels the righteous swell of victory puffing out his chest. It all lasted ten seconds before Tobirama rattles out his order and calls his name.

“Order for Stupid.”

Madara snaps his head towards him. “ _Stupid?!_ ” he hisses.

From behind the counter, Tobirama sniggers. “But I made you look.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Hashirama whines under his breath. “Actual five-year olds.”

“You called out my order!” Madara stomps towards Tobirama. He slams his palm on the bench. It’s a good thing the coffee shop is empty except for them and Tobirama’s co-workers, or else people would reel back at the disturbance. He leans forward and sneers, “You want to take this outside, dick?”

“You couldn’t keep up with me even with your takeaway cup of diabetes.” Tobirama leans forward to meet his challenging gaze. “I hope your arteries burst from all the clogging you put it through.”

“You’re a bastard, Senju,” Madara says.

“Right back at you, Uchiha,” Tobirama growls back.

Their faces are a centimetre apart, lips curled back in a snarl. A second passes where Hashirama worries that Madara might jump over the bench to pounce at Tobirama, but his worry passes when they both break off into snickers.

Madara closes the gap to kiss the corner of Tobirama’s mouth. Tobirama smiles, and even though the gesture’s adorable, Hashirama squashes down the urge to wretch because Madara’s and Tobirama’s flirting rituals is number one on the lists of things Hashirama avoids thinking about for his sanity’s sake.

“I’ll pick you up after work?” asks Madara.

“I finish work at nine,” Tobirama says. “See you then.”

Instead of pulling back, Madara leans forward again to smother his brother’s mouth with another kiss. Hashirama doesn’t tamp down his gag this time.

Really, he should put the fear of God into Madara for corrupting his little brother like this, but Hashirama knows that Tobirama’s too stubborn to be affected by the corruption unless he chooses to be. Actually, Tobirama’s more likely to be the _corruptor_ in these situations considering his proactive nature.

Which is all very gross when you think about it, and Hashirama’s going to stop his train of thought right there.

“ _Guys_ , not in public,” Hashirama pleads.

Utilising the tall, broad body that nature has gifted him with, Hashirama grabs the collar of Madara’s jacket because he still does have a small semblance of Madara’s patented older brother instinct. He shoves the coffee cup into his hand, and hauls Madara out the door before they can resort to making googly eyes at each other.


	7. Bossy Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kid!Tobi fic that no one asked for. Here it is anyway :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot I haven't uploaded this here. I've put future ideas of Kid!Tobi on the backburner but if it collectively reaches more than 10k I'll start posting it as a separate fic. 
> 
> As always, beta'ed by [ Holly. ](http://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Here is Kid!Tobi with the chubbiest cheeks omg. ](http://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com/post/156852389944/baby-tobirama-awkwardly-hugging-you-collaboration)

Days-off are a scarce, sacred thing. Everyone knows better than to disrupt Madara’s routine of sleep, eat, train and read when it’s his day off on the threat of having their head bitten off. Like most things in life, however, Hashirama is the exception.

Or Hashirama just doesn’t care. Most likely both. Senjus seem to be immune to his scare tactics.

Hashirama knocks on his door, an hour earlier than Madara had planned to wake up. Irate, Madara opens the door ready to breathe fire - only to halt and blink his bleariness away.

Madara stares at Hashirama. Then he stares harder at the child in his arms. A _very_ familiar-looking child with white spiky hair, red streaks down his cheeks and chin and the most fearsome glower to be ever paired with such chubby cheeks.  

“What is _that_?” Madara blurts out.

Lord, the way the child is glaring at him makes him feel as skewered and spit roasted as a hunted boar. It’s ridiculous. This teeny tiny child shouldn’t be able to exude so much malicious intent.

Hashirama sighs. “Don’t be mean, Madara. _This_ is Tobi _._ There was an accident when Tobi was field testing his jutsu.” Hashirama pauses. “Again.”

Whether Hashirama realised his wording or not, Madara snickers. “Isn’t he too old to be having accidents around the place?”

Tobirama sneers, all squeaky and squinty and _evil_.

“ _You’re_ an accident.”

Madara gapes. “Excuse _you_?”

“Really, Madara?” Hashirama asks in disbelief. “Out of the two of us, I would not have picked you to be the one fighting with a five year old. I hope you know that I have my disappointed face on.”

Hashirama puts enough shame in his rebuke that Madara almost thinks twice about glaring at the prickly porcupine in his arms. He bites his tongue, lest he rebuttals with sometime immature like the fact that Tobirama started it first. And he won’t, because if he does, then Tobirama wins. Madara, the ever mature person that he is, refuses to let a five year old best him.

Plus, Madara hates Hashirama’s disappointed face. It strikes the most disgusting feelings inside him – like guilt, shame and regret.

Absolutely disgusting.

Tobirama sticks his tongue out at him, and Madara’s eye twitches.

“Could you look after Tobi today? Pretty please?” Hashirama asks. “I promise I’ll repay you with dinner some other night.”

Sniffing, Tobirama looks away. “I can look after myself.”

Incredulous, Madara raises both eyebrows. “You can barely reach the counter.”

“And _you_ can barely win an argument.”

“You little–”

“Five year old,” Hashirama reminds him.

Breathing in a harsh gulp of air, Madara calms himself down. He wouldn’t be surprised if a vein is poking out of his forehead. That’s just the effect Tobirama has on him. Still, Tobirama is only five. Even if he is leaps and bounds ahead of other five year olds, Madara is the full grown adult here. He should not be so easily provoked.

“How long is he going to be like this?” Madara asks.

Hashirama’s only answer is a shrug. “His notes didn’t say much. They just say he’ll eventually ‘revert’ back to his normal state. Everybody else is at work, and I don’t finish till late at night. Please take care of him till I finish?”

Hashirama attempts to widen his eyes for transparency. Madara is sceptical. Tobirama, still lodged in Hashirama’s arms, continues to wish pain and suffering upon Madara using his facial features alone. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.

“Fine.” Madara sighs. “Bring him in.”

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Tobirama has the chubbiest cheek and the biggest eyes he’s ever seen on a such a small body. He’s on the shorter side, rounder than Madara expected, and he exudes so much belligerent confidence while being all wrapped up in a small, dark blue yukata.

It’s downright adorable.

Normal developmental milestones are not something Tobirama adheres to. Madara knows this; like everything else in life, Tobirama accelerates. It shouldn’t surprise him how self-sufficient and intelligent he is for a five year old.

His insistences on taking care of himself almost gave Madara a heart attack. He put Tobirama in one place, told him to stay, and the next time he blinked, Tobirama had somehow gotten his short little legs standing on a chair while attempting to cut an apple into small slices.  

On another note, Tobirama is cutting his _nerves_ into small slices. What with the way he’s silent and unblinking when he just _stares_ at Madara across the coffee table.

Madara peers up at Tobirama from his book. “Do you even blink?”

Like an owl, Tobirama is nonplussed and silent.

“Do you want a colouring book and some pencils?” Madara asks. “A book to read? Math problems to do? A nap? People to skewer?”

Tobirama doesn’t answer, or twitch. Madara squints his eyes. He wouldn’t put it past Tobirama to stop breathing out of pure spite.

Madara decides for him. “I’ll bring out a bit of everything, so you can decide for yourself what you want to do, alright?” Everything except the last thing he mentioned, of course. Kid Tobirama is scary enough as it is, Madara doesn’t need more nightmare material by watching a cute little kid stabbing people with glee.

Silence is the only thing that answers him, and he interprets it as a yes. He hauls himself up from the floor and lugs through his house, grabbing a blanket, a pillow and an assortment of puzzles he thinks five year old Tobirama will enjoy. They’re puzzles that he himself fiddles with when he gets fidgety. If it’s enough to entertain him, then it’s surely enough to challenge a teeny tiny prodigy.

He almost drops everything when he steps into the living room, finding it empty and Tobirama gone.  

 

* * *

 

Tobirama can’t have gone far. Literally, teeny tiny legs.

Considering Tobirama’s penchant for high places, Madara heads straight to the top of Hokage Mountain: adult Tobirama has two places he frequents when he wants to ponder on his thoughts, and since a very quick visit to the Senju Koi pond revealed it empty, sure enough Madara finds Tobirama on the top of the mountain, huddled with his knees up, looking off into the city.

It’s ridiculous that he has enough chakra control to climb up the Hokage mountain. Chills stab into his neck at the thought of a small Tobirama tumbling off a cliff so high. Panic is not something he handles well. Anger, however, is a familiar and warm cloak he frequently wears.

Before he can strip a hide into Tobirama, Tobirama sweeps him off guard with his grumblings.

“Why do you care where I go?” He buries his head into his knees. “You don’t even like me anyway.”

All the hot air rush out of him. Madara flops down beside him, defeated. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you turned into a child, not an angsty teenager.”

Tobirama frowns. “I’m not angsty.”

“You’re definitely angsty for a five year old,” Madara informs him, amused. “And you have a ridiculously expansive vocabulary for someone so young. You’re also wrong in that I do care, and that I do like you.”

Tobirama looks at him, sceptical at the thought of _anyone_ wanting him around.

What a heart clencher. Feelings and Madara are not the closest friends, but if opening up will get rid of this doubt that’s clouding around Tobirama, then so be it.

Tobirama should never have to doubt about people wanting him around.

“I do,” Madara reaffirms. “I think you’re smart, courageous, and kind, even when you’re throwing things at me. _Sharp_ things, by the way. I regard your opinion very highly. Fighting, and talking with your older self is something that I look forward to every day.”

“You didn’t want me this morning.”

“I was grumpy at being woken up so early, since this is my only day off this week. I suppose I should apologise for that.” Madara scratches the back of his head.  “I’m sorry if I was being a grump to you. I would promise to try not to be one again, but I’m just a naturally grumpy person.”

“I remember.” Tobirama twitches his nose. “I remember a lot of things. It’s…confusing.”

Madara bets. Two sets of memories in such a tiny body - one that’s running on a child’s logic and feelings. That’s got to be one uncomfortable, perplexing mix.

Always so much wiser than his years, Tobirama offers his own apology. “I’m sorry I was mean to you. Brother never wants to play with me. He’s always leaving me behind when he plays with our cousins. I know that he’s the Hokage, and that’s important, but I didn’t like that he was passing me off to someone else again.”

Madara’s familiar with brotherly resentment. It’s an inevitable part of growing up, but he’s always made the effort to never exclude Izuna. Even when he’s busy, Madara is adamant in making sure that Izuna knows that he comes first as family does.

Madara knows Hashirama too well. All the good with all the bad. He’s aware that Hashirama has a habit of valuing other people’s regard higher than he values his brother’s.

Clearly, Tobirama knows this. Resignation slumps his small shoulders.

It occurs to Madara that if seven year old Madara had met seven year old Hashirama and discovered this, the former would have surely kicked the latter’s ass. Children make mistakes, everyone does, but little siblings should never doubt their value to their older brothers.

That’s just unacceptable.

“Well, you got me on my day off. I’m here as your obedient minion. We don’t need Hashirama to have fun. We’ll do it on our own,” Madara says. “How about we play a prank on Izuna to cheer you up?”

A small smile blossoms on Tobirama’s face. Tobirama puts his arms up, in a silent demand to be piggy backed down. Either Tobirama is a cat, and climbing up is vastly easier than climbing down, or Tobirama has deemed Madara worthy of carrying him down.

Tobirama’s bossy attitude is _adorable_.

“Can we make him scream really high?” asks Tobirama as he climbs up Madara’s back. “His shrieking is funny.”

Tobirama rests his cheek against the side of Madara’s face. The cold press of soft skin shocks him slightly, before he chuckles.

“Like I said, I’m here as your obedient minion,” Madara tells him. “Your every wish is my command.”

 

* * *

 

When Izuna shrieks later that afternoon, it sounds _glorious._

Madara sits on a cushion with a book in his hand and tea on the table. Tobirama snaps the book he’s reading shut, and scampers under a set of blankets beside Madara. He huddles into the blankets and turns his back towards the door as heavy footsteps stomp their way to their living room.

The room slides open with a crash to reveal a shirtless Izuna with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“ _You little shi–”_

“Language,” Madara scolds. Beside him, he can feel Tobirama shake with mirth, but he doesn’t let any sound escape. Technically, he’s an adult that’s heard worse, but Madara does it for the sake watching Izuna grow redder.

And what a satisfying sight it is.

Izuna growls. “ _You morbidly disturbed little panda bear_.” He points a shaky, furious finger at the lump. “I know you’re the one that did this!”

He gestures to his hair. His long, spiky hair. His long, spiky, neon-orange hair that’s _glittering_ like firework sparks from the way the sun is illuminating it.

Madara raises one eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Izuna. He’s _five_.”

“He’s _evil!_ ”

“He’s _asleep._ And inside voices! Can’t you see that it’s nap time?”

The look that Izuna throws him is absolutely _withering._ Madara wants it painted and hung in his office.

But he doesn’t let his lips twitch. Instead, Madara says, “For what it’s worth, you’re looking exceptionally fiery today.”

The bundle of blankets beside him snorts. Madara squashes the bundle with his weight in rebuke, because sleeping little boys in the middle of nap time absolutely do not _snort._

Izuna claws at his hair. He does his best to tug a handful out while screeching in frustration. He stomps out of the room, the screech fading as he gets further away.

Once he’s clear of imminent danger, Tobirama pokes his head out of the blankets, sniggering. “Can we do brother next?” he asks, eyes bright with devious intentions.

Madara thinks on it. “I’ve got another idea; how about we do Tōka next, but we frame Hashirama?”

Worry crosses Tobirama’s rounded features. “Tōka’s really smart, though. It’ll be hard tricking her. She’s the oldest.“

 _Sage._ He remembers when being the oldest was the single end to every and all arguments he ever had with his brother. Madara wants to keel over and clutch his heart from the cuteness of Tobirama’s serious features. How he missed those days.

And don’t get him started on how precious Tobirama’s awe for Tōka is.

Madara closes his book. “It’s two against one. I think those are pretty good odds.”

Tobirama considers his choices for the moment, before the biggest grin splits his face. He nods, and holds his arm up, signalling Madara to carry him for easy conspiring.

Madara obliges him. Tobirama fits to his side like a warm, soft, missing puzzle piece.

Together, they duck their heads close, and they plan.

 

* * *

 

Madara startles awake at the feeling of a chakra signature entering his room. He sits up, blinks his blurry eyes rapidly to meet big, red ones staring back at him.

He jolts back and throws his swearing rule out the window.

“Fucking piece of shit fuck, Tobirama. You scared me!” Madara rubs the sleepiness away from his face, once he registers the tiny figure standing beside his futon. “And how the hell did you break in, anyway? For fuck’s sake, Tobirama, you’re _five._ Stop being so competent.”

Tobirama sniffs. “I’m five, not _stupid_. And _language_.”

“What do you think you’re doing running around Konoha at this time of night? It’s dangerous! Especially for a kid like you! Does Hashirama even know you’re here? He’s going to come bounding here flailing and panicking _–_ ”

“I can’t sleep.”

Madara blinks at him in the darkness. “Pardon me?”

“I can’t sleep,” Tobirama repeats, before fidgeting where he stands. “I keep seeing my other memories, and there are _–_ some of them are really bad. Really, _really_ bad.”

Of course. Madara feels like an absolute buffoon for forgetting that five year old Tobirama does not have the same coping mechanism as a twenty-four year old Tobirama. And Madara does not wish the horrors that twenty-four year old Tobirama has seen even on his worst enemies.

“Why come to me?” Madara asks, tone gentle. “Wouldn’t Hashirama be better for these sort of things?”

“You said that you’re my obedient minion.”

That makes him raise one eyebrow. “And?”

“You said that my every wish is your command.” Tobirama folds his arms together. “Well my wish now is for you to beat down those dreams as my obedient minion. You’re scary _–_ you have a scary face. You can scare them by glaring at them, like how you glare at brother sometimes.”

He must not smile. No matter how much bossy Tobirama makes him want to, or how much the idea that Madara is more infallible than Tobirama’s demons makes him want to preen. So, instead of squishing tiny Tobirama’s cheeks, Madara opens up the blanket of his futon, and concedes.

“Alright then. In you go.”

Tobirama perks up, and all but jumps into the blanket. He burrows into Madara _–_ and like the sadist he is, he shoves his cold hands under Madara’s back, leeches all the warmth from Madara’s chest into his side, before sighing into Madara’s shoulder.

Madara sends one of his cats off to inform Hashirama of Tobirama’s whereabouts. By the time he finishes tucking the blanket around them, Tobirama is sound asleep.


	8. Bossy Boots Strikes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kid!Tobi's back and having the time of his life. Part 2 of the Bossy Boots verse.

When Hashirama specified that Tobirama will eventually ‘revert’ back into an adult, he never included an estimation. There’s a reason for that. It turns out, there _are_ no estimates to when Tobirama will eventually become an adult again. Time moves on, and the small group of people Hashirama trusts to look after Tobirama return to the responsibilities they have to attend to.

Their days off hardly ever coincide. The days where everyone happened to be working, Tobirama had stuck to Madara’s side like a leech. Not going to lie, Madara preened a bit.

There’s something sweet about being chosen by Tobirama, time and time again. Even though Tobirama sometimes chooses to sleep with Hashirama at night.

He thought Hashirama would sulk at the idea, but when Madara strode into the office the next morning with Tobirama in his arms, there was an extra table with a high chair beside his Police Chief desk. Tobirama’s glower is still unparalleled. And Madara is shameless about utilising it for theatrical effect.

Thus began one of the strangest games of hot potato between Konoha’s elite, with small, chubby Tobirama being shuffled between the people who happened to have time off for the day.

Surprisingly, this is the most smiling Madara’s seen Tobirama do in years.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, Hikaku,” says Madara as he flicks a folder across the table. “You’re officially the senior officer in this case. Remember that the trainee is your responsibility. Do well, and there might be a promotion in your future. Flop, and, well–”

Tobirama doesn’t blink. “Say goodbye to your career.”

Hikaku, the poor teenager sitting across from him, actually breaks out a sweat. Madara cackles. Tobirama is unmoved, but Madara can see his lips twitching.

Hikaku basically flies to the door when he’s dismissed. Only then, does Tobirama let himself giggle.

Kagami pokes his head through the door. “Should I inform him that you’re kidding, Shishou?”

“Nah, wait till the afternoon.” Madara looks at Tobirama for confirmation. Tobirama nods in approval. “Fear is a good motivator.”

Tobirama goes back to his scribblings. He’s scribbling with such focused intent with the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration, that curiosity tickles Madara. Slowly, he leans over his desk, trying to take a peek at Tobirama’s drawings.

Tobirama slams his drawings blank-side up.

Madara frowns. “C’mon.”

“No.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not _ugly_.” Tobirama scrunches his nose. “But I can do better. I _know_ I can. It’s just not going the way I want it to.”

“Adult you can do better,” Madara agrees. He’s not known for coddling kids, and it would be a particularly idiot thing to do with a kid as smart as Tobirama. “The you with around twenty years’ worth of extra hand-eye coordination can do better, of course. That skill will come back as this jutsu fades. However, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure your current skills are better than what I can do.”

Ever so helpful, Kagami pokes his head through the door again. “It’s true. Every time Shishou tries to draw, the paper sets itself on fire. It’s a more merciful fate, to be honest.”

“Okay, new rule.” Madara points at Kagami. “Keep opinions to yourself, unless they support my statements.”

That tickles a smile out of Tobirama. “Well,” he says. “I guess if you’re so sure it’s better than _Madara’s_ …”

Being better than him – the usual motivator for most of Tobirama’s actions.

Kagami and Tobirama break off into snickers. Madara levels them with flat stare.

“I’ll be finished when Kagami takes me to lunch,” Tobirama says. “You can flip it over then.”

It’s a good compromise, so Madara agrees.

When lunchtime comes, Tobirama orders to be carried with his customary arms-up. After melting into a puddle (“I can’t believe I’m carrying, _sensei!_ ”),  Kagami and Tobirama heads off to fetch his lunch. Madara leans over, and flips the drawing.

His breath hitches.

It’s a drawing of a red and black dragon, curled in the air and breathing fire. It’s a bit more cartoonish than Tobirama’s usual style, but there’s shading in each scale, and the details that differentiate the dragon’s mane.

Guess Madara’s correct about it being better than anything he could produce. Actually, it’s better than anything he could produce with _training._

Incidentally, red and black are his favourite colours. He was thinking, just the other day, of how drab his office walls are. Maybe it’s time to decorate a bit.

Madara makes his way to the stationary closet to see if they’ve got some spare frames.

 

* * *

 

Almost two hours later, Kagami strides in carrying a half-comatose Tobirama in a new set of clothes and a bento box. Madara feels his blood pressure rise at least three notches when he spots an Uchiwa sewed on Tobirama’s armband.

“Before you panic,” says Kagami, “this is a food coma. We took a detour to get yakidori, then dango, then a bit of sashimi, and then some rice cakes, and then yakidori again because I underestimated how good it was–”

“Kagami,” Madara interrupts, “do you have any idea how much trouble I will get in for dressing up a prominent _Senju_ member in an _Uchiha_ Police uniform?”

“But sensei insisted on wearing one so he could be part of the _team_ , Shishou,” Kagami emphasises. “Part of the _team_.”

“Uniforms encourage solidarity,” says Tobirama.

Kagami grins at Tobirama. “Exactly!”

Madara cannot deny that Tobirama looks damn good in Uchiha colours. Still, propriety.

“You should’ve seen what happened when we walked in,” Kagami tells him. “Half of the squad doubled over in pain, like they overdosed on cuteness. The other half is still terrified of sensei, but I can totally feel the morale rising.”

Madara narrows his eyes at Kagami. “We don’t even stock uniforms in a size that small. Did you throw a bunch of our uniforms into the drier?”

Kagami’s face doesn’t twitch. “No comment.”

(Although, in Kagami’s opinion, it’s _so_ _worth_ _it_.)

Before Madara can groan his frustration, Tobirama’s eyes are drawn to the frame hung on the wall to his left. His eyes brighten. “You like my drawing?” Tobirama asks, half surprised and half sheepish.

Slightly caught off guard, Madara answers, “Of course.”

His eyes crease in a pleased smile. It’s a good thing that Madara’s already sitting down, because his knees feels weak.

Tobirama tilts his head to admire his drawing. “I guess it does look better when it’s framed. You can have your lunch now.”

Squirming, Tobirama slides out of Kagami’s hold, careful not to knock over the bento box. He then tugs the box out of Kagami’s hand and delivers it to Madara, holding it up with a blinding smile that shows how proud he is at such a successful delivery.

Madara is pretty sure Kagami passed out on the spot. Overdosed on cuteness, as he said before. Baby Tobirama is _lethal._ That smile should really be outlawed, for the sake of Konoha’s constitution.

Accepting the bento box, Madara nods his thanks, and tries his hardest not to follow in his apprentice’s footsteps.

 

* * *

 

Tobirama is slippery at any age. At one point, he went beyond slippery and decided to literally disappear from air by inventing a space-time ninjutsu just to escape from his grasp. It’s debateable, however, if twenty-four year old Tobirama is more slippery than the little child that’s currently leading Izuna on a merry chase across the rooftops of Konoha.

Of course, Tobirama thinks that this is just one huge game of tag. Izuna is panicking out of his mind.

“Tobirama, come back right now!” he orders. “Don’t you run away from nap time. Get back here and face it like a shinobi! And watch where you’re stepping!”

Ever since child Tobirama became a constant present in their household, they started stocking on caffeine-free green tea, because Tobirama at any age is also a tea and caffeine addict. The sneaky child almost took a sip out of Izuna’s own cup of coffee, but Izuna managed to switch their cups at the last minute. He gave himself a pat on the back at a job well done, and for averting disaster.

Izuna did not realise that he made the tea from the wrong tin.

He regrets making the tea from the wrong tin.

How he’s paying for it now.

Tobirama ignores his yellings, giggling as he zig-zags at impossible speeds. How the hell is he so fast? His legs are literally a quarter of Izuna’s. This is just shameful.

Charging chakra into his feet, Izuna springs into the air. With this much chakra, should be able to land about two steps behind Tobirama–

–only to be jerked back by the back of his collar to meet furious brown eyes.

“Why,” Tōka chews out the words in a way that suggest imminent death, “is my five-year old cousin cartwheeling across dangerous _rooftops_ when he’s supposed to be _sleeping?!”_

Izuna winces. “I might have…given him the non-kid friendly green tea by accident.”

Tōka is on the verge of shrieking. She grabs his collar with both hands and shakes him with each word.

“ _You gave my five year old cousin caffeine by accident?!”_

“I’m sorry! I made a huge mistake! The caffeine was an accident! And now, he’s so damn slippery! Look at how easily he’s jumping over the roofs. Tobirama’s not a normal kid – he’s already so adept with chakra. The first day he turned, he climbed to the top of Hokage mountain! I was doomed from the start!” Izuna manages between each shake. Although, his head is starting to get woozy. “Please don’t tell Madara.”

“Tobi’s already very active for a five year old! He doesn’t need caffeine to _amplify_ it!”

“But look at how happy he is right now!” Izuna points at the blur of blue and white soaring through the sky. “He’s tiring himself out. I bet he’ll sleep so much better after this.”

Tōka snarls, looking pretty close to ripping his throat out using her bare teeth.

Izuna resigns himself to dying. He’s had a good life. At least he got to die with Toka taking a bite out of him, even though it’s not quite in the way he had wanted it to be.

Evidently, Tobirama realised that Izuna stopped chasing him. He doubles back towards where Toka and Izuna are without them realising. Izuna feels Tobirama tugging on his robe.

To their surprise, Tobirama puts a small hand on Toka’s leg.

“Tag, Tōka-nee!” he says, grinning like crazy. “You’re it!”

A second ticks by. Tōka melts into goo.

“You have to count to ten first because _some_ people,” Tobirama side eyes Izuna, “need all the advantage they can get.”

Izuna squawks in protest.

Stern and solid, Tōka may be, but she is nowhere near invulnerable. Tobirama at five, the first time round, was inquisitive. He used to waddle behind her like a duckling. Tōka was too swamped in her duties to indulge him back then: when she finally earned to luxury to take a breather, Tobirama had long outgrown his habit of following her around.

But this Tobirama – this Tobirama is looking up at her with his huge eyes, and a cheeky grin that makes her feel like she could bench press an entire army. This Tobirama makes her will crumble into debris.

She sighs in defeat and releases Izuna to flop to the ground.  “Alright,” she says. Tōka makes a big show of putting her hands over her eyes and, quite dramatically, takes a huge breath.

Before Tōka could count to one, Tobirama is already fleeing as if the Shinigami is at his heels.

 

* * *

 

It’s not Madara’s turn with Tobirama today, it’s Izuna’s. Yet, his nerves itch away at his concentration.

The silence is his office is stifling.

He taps his fingers in sync with the ticking clock. Then he glances at the empty table beside him, looks at the crayons all in their neat box, before looking at the picture hung on the wall.

It’s silly, Madara thinks. Three days straight with him, and suddenly Madara’s getting separation anxiety.

Madara has no claim to Tobirama, and Tobirama doesn’t belong to him. He might be Tobirama’s favourite, but officially, he’s not Tobirama’s _anything_.

“It’s silly,” Madara repeats to himself. “You’re being silly. Stop worrying. He’s fine with Izuna – it’s probably his nap time, anyway.”

 

* * *

 

Izuna wishes he was better at de-escalating situations. First it was the great naptime escape, then it was the rooftop tag. Now, he finds himself chasing Tōka and Tobirama through Konoha’s wide, expansive forests in an attempt to supervise their impromptu ‘stroll’.

Their stroll across Konoha’s trees that are substantially _taller_ and _more dangerous_ than any building found in Konoha.

The height would scare any other child, but Tobirama is, as usual, unlike any other child. He’s perched on Tōka’s back, laughing like there’s no tomorrow, impervious to the palpitations of Izuna’s weakened heart.

“I don’t think this is good idea,” yells Izuna, the wind attempting to muffle his voice. “And this is coming from me. You know, the Emperor of Bad Ideas. We should go back and put him to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Tōka calls out. “He’s using chakra to stick on to me, he’ll tire out soon! Hold on tight, Tobi. We’re going to freefall!”

They jump out of a tree that’s at least twenty metres in height, hollering in delight as they plummet through the air.

Somewhere in the village, Izuna is sure that a civilian mother is collapsing from shock.

 

* * *

 

He knows that something is wrong when Tobirama asks if they could skip work and sit on top of the Hokage mountain for a bit. There’s a weariness to Tobirama’s tone, one that indicates his past experiences are causing some confusing emotions. Helpless to anything that would make Tobirama feel better, Madara agrees.

Madara takes a day off – perks of being in charge – and carries Tobirama up to the mountain. It’s that time in the morning where the sky is a mesh of blue and pink. They sit in silence as they watch the first trail of people blink away their bleariness, the village breathing up to life.

“I dreamt about Itama and Kawarama last night,” Tobirama says. “It was – I don’t know, so _vivid_. I thought I was back in there with them, but I know they aren’t here–I thought I was–”

Tobirama curls into himself, and the action is so painful, Madara draws Tobirama into a hug. He knows what Tobirama means – how Tobirama thought that he had moved on from his grieving. That the feeling of their past and future lost, and the endless missed opportunities had become more bearable throughout the years. He thought he moved past it, only to have the memories smack the hollowness straight into his gut again.

Tobirama buries his face in his chest and takes a shaky breath.

“I miss them,” he finally says. “I wanted to be the best big brother ever. I wanted to be their favourite. The one they’d go to if they were sad or scared. I promised I’d always protect them.”

Madara just holds Tobirama tighter in his arms, and rests his chin on top of his head.

“I don’t know–I don’t know how to feel. This is–” Madara can feel Tobirama frowning, “–confusing.”

The thought of Tobirama trying to decipher something as complex as feelings makes Madara laugh.

“It gets bearable after a while,” Madara says. “Izuna and I, we do things to make it bearable.”

Sniffling, Tobirama peers up. “Like what?”

“Like singing, old kid’s games, and eating their favourite food. Our youngest sister loved it when Izuna sang. She’d always clap along to Izuna’s lullabies, which completely defeated the purpose of a lullaby, but she was _happy_. And Izuna’s quite a skilled singer. You might think that Izuna’s a tenor, what with all his undignified shrieking hitting those high notes, but he actually has a very rich, baritone voice.”

“Oh.”  Tobirama shuffles closer. “Do you sing too?”

Madara squeezes the small bundle in his arms. “Not as good as Izuna, sadly. I like to press flowers. Hanabi and Tsurugi liked to collect them and make flower crowns, so I like the preserve the ones I think they’d like. I try to grow my own, but sometimes I don’t have the time. ”

“Can we do that?” asks Tobirama. “Can we have a Kawarama and Itama day–can we have a siblings day?”

Like he said, he’s helpless to anything that makes Tobirama feel better.

“Anything you want,” Madara tells him.

Honestly, Madara’s just straight out helpless to Tobirama.

 

* * *

 

So Madara digs through their attic for their old card games, falling Buddha blocks and spinning tops. Being a hoarder comes with perks, especially when Tobirama’s face lights up when he sees them.

They spend the better part of their morning playing. The plan is to play till lunchtime before going to a barbecue house, since Tobirama said that’s where his family liked to eat when they were younger. Madara sends a messenger off to Tōka, Izuna and Hashirama to – quite politely, in his opinion – clear their lunch schedule under the threat of amputations and fire and pain and suffering. No threats of death this time. No need to defeat the purpose of Siblings’ Day.

An hour before lunch, a knock rings through Madara’s door.

He opens it to find Hashirama smiling sheepishly.

“I heard we’re having a siblings’ day today,” says Hashirama. “I hope I’m not too early.”

His tri-cone hat is nowhere in sight, and he’s out of the Hokage uniform. Dressed in his casual black robes, Hashirama might have done the impossible. Hashirama might have pulled a miracle; Hashirama has found a sudden substitute for the rest of the afternoon.

Truly, his friend never ceases to amaze.

At hearing Hashirama’s voice, Tobirama comes running to the door, halting himself right in front of Hashirama. He schools his face into a blank expression.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to let him in. He _is_ my brother, after all.” Tobirama sniffs, pretending to be unaffected by Hashirama’s sudden appearance.

They’re not fooled, of course. Tobirama already looks a lot brighter than he did this morning.

Tobirama lets Hashirama through the door. Instead of just entering, Hashirama swoops Tobirama off his feet and hugs him tight to his side. Squeezes him like Tobirama’s the only thing that matters to Hashirama right now.

Tobirama doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he melts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta'ed by [ Holly. ](http://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com)
> 
> The Great Sphinx of Giza is about 20m high. Rip to all those who thought that Tōka was a Responsible Adult™. She’s just as weak to kid!Tobi as the rest of us are. Also, I’ve become very enamoured with the idea of a Konoha/B99 spoof.  


	9. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgin-Incubus!Madara c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago, [Holly](https://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com) and I tried to write smut for this fic before life hit us both like a train. I'll put this out now in case the smut never comes. If it does, I'll take this down and post it separately. 
> 
> I still love MadaTobi! 2018 will be the year I try to write more of them, promise! Thank you to everyone who's read and commented! I appreciate you guys so much.

Between focusing on his postgraduate studies, holding down a part time job, hanging out with his friends and skype calls with his family, there’s not really much room for anything else in his life. He’s busy but happy, and what a dangerous combination it is. Dangerous, because Madara tends to become the most oblivious person with the shoddiest memory when he’s busy, even with the most colossal life changing details.

Like the fact that his family are Lilin demons and that the full consequence of being an incubus is about to hit him like a freight train.

God, how could he forget? Even his brother took the time to remind him last time he visited Madara’s house.

“Yo,” Izuna had greeted him as he plonked himself on Madara’s sofa beside him. “Stop avoiding the family group chat. The parental unit is looking for you.”

Madara’s eyes hadn't moved from his computer’s screen. “Can’t. Project due on Monday, and another on Thursday, and another next week.”

“Mum says you need to get laid.”

Madara had sighed. “When is she not, though?”

Izuna had pursued his lips. “Agreed, but she’s being serious this time. Mum says her incubus heritage came in when she was twenty two, and dad’s came in when he was twenty-three, so your one is due soon.”

A groan had escaped from him. Oh _that._ “I forgot about that. Tell her I will. When I’m not busy.”

“But you’re always busy,” Izuna had whined. “You even sleep as little as Tobirama does. What happens if your course doesn’t slow down until you graduate? ”

Madara had shrugged, his mind already tuning out the conversation as soon as Izuna sat down.

“Guess I’ll die,” he had joked.

Fast forward two ridiculously busy months later and guess what? He’s _dying_.

He’s so fucked.

Actually, he’s not getting fucked at all.

That’s the problem.

“God, I’m starving,” he says to his best friend, before proceeding to slam his face on their study table. “And achy, and sleepy. It’s so hard to focus and it feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”

His best friend sits beside him, long hair tied back, pale skin glowing in the night, and sipping from the straw sticking out of the bag in his hands. The liquid rises up the straw in loud slurps, thick, viscous and red.

“We’re university students, Madara,” Hashirama informs him. “That’s not exactly a new thing.”

“The incubus thing, you flop.”

“Ah, yes, the incubus thing.” Hashirama gives Madara a consoling pat on the back. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?  The vampire that adores the sun, and the incubus that’s never had sex.”

With the introduction of protection charms, it had become easier for vampires to tolerate the sunlight. Although, Madara has never met a vampire that enjoys being outside quite as much as Hashirama does.

With as much effort as he could give, which is barely any, he throws a piece of paper at Hashirama. “I’m _trying_ . It’s hard, okay? All the _talking_ and the _dating_ and the _effort_. It’s hard to find anybody appealing when you’re so exhausted.”

“Really?” Hashirama looks at him with a knowing glance. “You haven’t found a single person that’s appealing enough to sleep with?”

Madara avoids Hashirama’s gaze, because he knows it’s not true. When he thinks of the word appealing, he thinks of red eyes, white hair and insults that knock him off his feet, leaving him more often thrilled than offended.

But that person also happens to be his best friend’s younger brother, and his younger brother’s best friend. That person also happens to lounge around their flat like a cat claiming ownership at Madara’s every seeming waking moment. To be fair, Izuna does that too.

Still, it’s the worst situation to be in when one’s trying to hide their unrequited crush.

“Seriously though, you can’t be the only incubus with this problem,” Hashirama continues on. “Hell, you can’t be the only magical being with this problem. Why don’t you just find someone on that dating app?”

A cringe rips through his body. “Can’t,” Madara says. “Little siblings played with my phone while I wasn’t looking. Got banned for Catfishing.”

“There’s got to be more than one app.”

“But that’s the only app that caters to magical beings.” Madara slumps into his seat. “I am not risking accidentally killing a human during sex.”

“Right.” Hashirama frowns. “Forgot how fragile humans were. I’m sure, you’ll find somebody. If it gets that desperate we could always go to a real escort.”

Madara hopes not. He hasn’t got enough money for that. Bad timing means that Madara had just bought his four siblings presents for when he visits home and it irks him to consider asking his parents for money to see an _escort_.

He’ll work something out.

 

* * *

 

Three failed dates and a sauce-splattered shirt later, Madara slips on a nice hoodie in a rather dark mood.

God, he knew that dating was hard, but he never knew that dating was _this_ hard _,_ or that it was filled with heartbroken exes begging to be taken back with a mariachi band. But she doesn’t look half as uncomfortable with the trumpets and the singing as she did when he blurted out a compliment on how strong and delectable her life force was.

Dating life is _wild_.

Well, no need to let his night off go to waste. He’s already a bit sleepy. Might as well tuck himself into bed and drift off with something playing on the background.

Just as he’s surfing for things to watch, his phone vibrates.

_[(8:23) Dorkupine: B99 marathon?]_

Well, there goes his night plans. Goodbye sleeping.

His fingers move before he can think on it.

_[(8:24) I’m keen. Mine or yours?]_

_[(8:24) Dorkupine: Come to mine. No blood, no entry. O+ please.]_

Madara rolls his eyes. With how often he stays at theirs, his fridge is already stocked with Tobirama’s favourite blood type. It’ll only take ten minutes for Madara to walk to their place, and secretly moon at Tobirama for the rest of the night.

Sounds like a great idea.

 

* * *

 

From the absence of noise as Tobirama lets him into the flat, it seems like his flatmates aren’t home. Tobirama takes the bags of blood off his hands to put them into the fridge, and Madara sets off to Tobirama’s room, making Tobirama’s laptop comfortable on his lap as he steals a pillow to cushion his back.

It doesn’t register to him how comfy their routine is. Then again, Madara’s a pretty forgetful and oblivious person, who’s too busy trying to remember what episode they last watched to notice that Tobirama is locking his door.

“Do you remember what episode we were on—Tobirama, _what are you doing?!”_

The last bit is shrieked, because as soon as the door is locked, Tobirama starts to take his shirt off.

He pauses, arms still mid-air and still gripping his shirt.  “Just to be clear,” Tobirama says. “You’re still pretty infatuated with me, right? Because it’s very much mutual. And I don’t want to risk you _dying_ before making the first move.”

Madara is trying to respond but his tongue has swollen up at the sight of so much skin. So much smooth, pale, _biteable_ skin.

Tobirama takes his speechless silence as confirmation. He throws him a pleased, dimpled smile that’s full of cheek and way too wholesome for someone who’s crawling on the bed towards him like – _like that._

“Ah,” Madara says intelligently. Tobirama sets the laptop off somewhere else on the bed, before his arms are caging him in. Madara can feel the heat emanating off of him. His own body soaks in it, making his spine tingle and his chest tight.

“I heard you have a problem,” Tobirama says primly, even though the look in his eyes says he wants to gobble Madara up from his head right down to his toes. “I believe I am the solution.”

“I thought we were going to catch up on Brooklyn Nine-Nine,” he says in a weak voice.

Tobirama grins. His fangs poke out from his upper lip, making him looking devious. “We can multitask.”

“But—”

“The way I see it, you _could_ engage in a constant push and pull of being on the brink of death by sleeping with another Lilin demon—or— _or_ you could _not_ risk you or your partner passing out-slash-dying by sleeping with someone who’s already _dead_. You know, like a vampire.”

Madara swallows the heavy lump in his throat. “And you’re offering?”

Tobirama hovers there, shirt off, belt unbuckled, staring at him in disbelief.

“I don’t know, Madara,” Tobirama drawls, deadpan. “I wonder what could have possibly given you that idea.”

Madara flushes, and grabs the nearest pillow in an attempt smother Tobirama. “God, you asshole! You have to give me time to—to adjust to these sorts of things!”

Abandoning his position over his, Tobirama rolls sideways to dodge, snorting. “Madara, you are literally dying at this very second.”

“I _know_! I just haven’t—I haven't done this before, okay?” The words are making him blush redder than his hoodie, and making him more aggressive with his pillow assault.

Tobirama catches his wrist before getting a face-full of pillow, and _pulls_ as he rolls on his back, coaxing Madara on top of him, weaving his arms around his neck to keep him _there_.

It's not like Madara resents the switch of position, so he doesn't even try to resist from burying his face in Tobirama’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of mint shampoo and aftershave. Tobirama is firm underneath him, but softened and moulded in a way that makes Madara want to stay there forever. Tobirama is warm like a well-fed vampire, but his smell is refreshing, like aftershave and mouthwash, so sharp, so _Tobirama_.

“I’m the older one here,” he grumbles in useless protest. “You should be taking cues from me.”

Tobirama cards his fingers through Madara’s long hair, and tugs him up to look at him. His eyes are sparkling. “How about I stop you from wasting away first?”

Madara consider it, and accepts with a grin. He rises up and places a kiss on Tobirama’s chin.

“If I must,” he says.

He lets Tobirama guides him into a kiss. A kiss that starts of soft, before sinking into something slow and sloppy kiss, and Tobirama makes good of his promise to devour every inch of him.

Suffice to say, coming here was definitely a great idea.

  



End file.
